...the newest member of the Hillbilly family, a baby girl, as yet unnamed. You might notice that her momma has still not lost all of her pregnancy weight. I expect a call from Jenny Craig any day now.
She was born Saturday night or Sunday, the best Farmer H can tell. She was not here on Friday night, when the temperatures were in the 60s. Farmer H had to work Saturday morning, then met The Pony for his bowling league, then stayed in town until four for a surprise birthday party the Pony was invited to. He did not mention this little firecracker to me before heading out to the auction at six.
There was a heavy rain Saturday night. Farmer H encountered water over the bridge on his way back from the auction. Sunday morning, with temps in the teens, he took off again for town. Mid-afternoon, he reported that his trusty goat, Goatrude, had delivered twins. Unfortunately, one did not survive. I'm sure the weather had a lot to do with it. We've only lost two other goat babies, one that may have been stepped on by a gaggle of goat hooves in their shed, who never fed properly, and the runt of a set of triplets that survived several weeks.
The Pony was saddened by the loss. He did not even want to go see the new addition yesterday. This afternoon, though, he said his dad had told him to check on the baby goat as soon as we got home. You know, while he was busy collecting THE EGG. I sensed some trepidation. After all, we are not that many years removed from the Summer of Dying Chickens. The Pony was on Death Watch then, too. It took a lot out of him. I don't know WHY Farmer H won't let me cocoon him and keep him sheltered until he's 21.
The baby was doing well. Farmer H arrived back at the Mansion a few minutes later. He ran over to see his new kid. Next thing I knew, while readying supper in the kitchen, Farmer H popped in with that baby goat in his arms. "Let's let Momma take a look at you." He held it on its back like a baby. And, like all babies, when I stepped closer for a better look, she bawled her head off. SO LOUD the bleat from such a little one. Farmer H scurried off to reunite little NoName with her mother.
Momma, indeed! We all know Farmer H is an old goat. But I am NOT a momma goat.